


All Hail the Conquering Hero

by Ramtops_Witch



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Other, Rimming, Slavery, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramtops_Witch/pseuds/Ramtops_Witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur liked conquering things, but Merlin didn’t need to be conquered. Except for the part where he did. Conquered and claimed and kept safe (canon AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Main fic

Arthur was a prince and a descendant of warlords, so it was really no surprise he liked conquering things; it was in his blood. When he was tiny he used to conquer his nursery and part of the garden and occasionally other places if he could manage it. You’d think for a dashing hero of his magnitude territories would be eager to bow down in supplication to him, but in actuality it was hard to conquer things when you were tiny and cute and kept being given sweets for your trouble. (Although in retrospect, Arthur admits that he had a good thing going there and that it was actually easier to conquer things when you were tiny and cute). He’d march purposefully up to them with his chest puffed out and a little flag he’d made from the tabard he’d torn yesterday and a stick and declare this place conquered in the name of Arthur. In his nursery he’d carefully arrange his toys to be an audience; sometimes they were his knights, sometimes they were grateful peasants who’d shower him with praise because he was such a wise and fair ruler, sometimes they were beautiful maidens he’d saved from dragons on his way. Arthur wasn’t entirely sure why maidens were saved from dragons, but he supposed no one really wanted to save crones from dragons, and the dragons would surely want something young and tasty. After he declared the area conquered by him, he’d rearrange it a bit to show his sovereignty, and then ride off to conquer someplace else. Once someone had tried to mount a resistance; one of his father’s councilors who was probably trying to teach Arthur a valuable life lesson or something. Arthur had hit him with his flag until he fell down, and his father was so proud of him that he actually let Arthur sit in his lap for a couple of minutes, on the throne in front of the whole court.

But he didn’t have to conquer Merlin. Merlin was already conquered. Conquered, brought down, and tied up with a pretty ribbon. So that didn’t explain why he liked to emblazon Merlin with his crest: the red Pendragon collar with Arthur’s personal sigil hanging from it which curved around Merlin’s neck, caressed it, held it like Arthur’s hands did sometimes. Not choking, not squeezing. Just resting there, knowing that Merlin’s life was literally in his hands. Claimed in the name of Arthur.

And it didn’t stop with the collar; there were the clothes. Well, the clothes were mostly because Merlin was absolutely hopeless at dressing appropriately, prone to draping himself in horrible rough cloth like he was a window and desperately needed drapery or something. Or a monk. And don’t get Arthur started on the idea of neck kerchiefs (which would actually cover up Arthur’s collar). Merlin clearly could not be trusted to dress himself. And so for the first month he owned Merlin (and while the good, moral part of Arthur was stricken with horror at the idea of ownership, the horrible greedy bastard Arthur wanted to pour the idea into his bath tub so he could submerge in it, roll around in it until he was covered in possession of Merlin), for the first month he dressed him up in whatever outlandish outfits he could think of. It was a good laugh mostly because Merlin would give him those frustrated and put out looks that said very clearly that he was plotting Arthur’s death and if he had his druthers Arthur would be dunked in the duck pond.

Putting him in one of Morgana’s old dresses was a mistake. It suited him. Same coloring, slender build. The dress didn’t feminize him, oddly enough, it made his muscles stand out more, made him look taller, stronger, gorgeous. And the low neckline just brought attention to the sweet, long curve of his neck and the gentle protrusion of his collar bone. Which really made Arthur want to bite it (both neck and collar bone. Biting; just a whole fuck ton of biting would ensue if Merlin continued to flaunt his skin like that). Arthur had put him in it and then quickly and firmly stripped him of it. Of course, his plan to resist the tempting wiles of his slave manservant was thwarted by the fact that he now had a breathless, put out, adorable, disheveled, naked manservant. And Arthur had…and he shuddered to admit this, even to himself lest he let it slip around someone sharp who would take advantage of it, like Morgana…but Arthur had morals, and said morals, while being fine with dressing Merlin up like a cat and making him crawl around the castle or spend hours polishing Arthur’s armor, were not fine with the idea of bending him over and buggering him senseless. All other parts of Arthur were perfectly, cheerfully all right with that, but not his morals, which protested that Merlin was a slave and couldn’t say no and it wouldn’t be all right and also his mother belonged to Uther and Arthur would never be able to look her in the eye again if he deflowered her baby boy.

And so he covered Merlin in red and gold (or blue or green in his quarters because they suited him and people were less likely to try and steal him there. Arthur was not stupid, one did not carelessly dangle the crown jewels out with the morning wash), and teased him until he pouted and looked put out and huffy and adorable.

Hunith and Merlin had been gifts from Cendren. Their village destroyed by bandits, they’d been forced to go to Cendren for help and ended up as slaves for their trouble. Arthur was very polite and diplomatic and certain that Cendren was the scum of the earth and that his people would be greatest served if Camelot conquered them as soon as possible. Morgana was less circumspect, but then she was Morgana. Also, she didn’t get a slave. Hunith had gone to Uther, and was basically sent to housekeeping because as Uther put it: “it was that or body slave and I would like to think I am not desperate enough to need to order someone into my bed.” He’d said it in the politely scathing tone that had made Cendren flush and Morgana smirk. This had calmed Morgana somewhat, and she’d demanded that Hunith be treated like any other serving woman. And pretty much everyone was too afraid of her wrath to do otherwise.

Hunith and Merlin were very different; it was hard to connect the two as mother and son sometimes. Merlin was all youth and fire, insulting Arthur and tackling a sorceress to the ground and wrestling a knife out of her hand for Arthur. When he smiled it lit up everything, a smile that could summon rainbows and bring puppies back from the dead. When he was sad his eyes could melt stone and when he was angry he crackled with it. He was all lanky elbows and clumsy movements. Hunith was soft (and he didn’t just mean due to her gender). She moved with a stately grace as if a dignitary in a funeral procession. When she smiled it was a broken smile, which always made Arthur wonder about Merlin’s father. Had she once worn Merlin’s hapless grin when she looked at him? Had that been stolen from her with her husband? Arthur really hoped she’d smiled unreservedly at Merlin’s father but he wasn’t an idiot, and Cendren’s kingdom was unlikely to be filled with anyone having any notion of chivalry and she must have been quite beautiful in her youth. Hunith only lit up when she looked at her son, but even that was filled with weariness and worry. She was competent where Merlin was hopeless but both of them had the same way of standing up for others in need and vast reservoirs of caring that made Arthur want to lock them both up somewhere safe where no one could take advantage of them. Really, Hunith and Merlin were very much the same. They both had a way of looking at Arthur that made him want to be a better man. Not accusing, not wanting, just - Believing. They believed in him, and he couldn’t disappoint them. Couldn’t make Hunith sigh that quiet, tired sigh. Couldn’t risk making Merlin smile a broken smile.

One warm afternoon Arthur had overheard (he hadn’t been sneaking, he’d just happened to overhear) Hunith speaking to Merlin. They’d sat next to each other, Hunith with some mending and Merlin polishing Arthur’s boots. Well, next to each other was inaccurate, as they’d been curled together, Merlin’s head in his mother’s lap, but the idea was the same.

“It’s actually much easier, compared to raising a toddler. I don’t have to make sure he doesn’t set himself on fire for one.”

“Muuuum. That only happened once,” Merlin protested, confirming Arthur’s belief that he should really not be allowed out on his own lest he hurt himself.

Hunith had just hummed noncommittally. “It’s basically housework on a larger scale, and the food’s better. Harsh he may be, but King Uther seems a fair man, kind even.”

Merlin shot up. “Please tell me you don’t—“

“Merlin. I am your mother and fully old enough to make my own decisions. Anyway, no I don’t. I was merely remarking that it could be worse. Cendren could have decided to keep us.” She and Merlin both shuddered and Arthur began revising his Strategy to Liberate Cendren’s Kingdom.

“But we could still be home, be free if…”

“No. I meant what I said, Merlin, it’s too dangerous. Sometimes we can’t do what we want. This was the best way. Your safety is too important to me. If you’d fought the bandits we would have just lost you, too. However you feel, you’re not invincible.”

Merlin smirked at her. “Oh, yeah? Prove it.”

“Brat,” she’d scolded, whacking him with the mending. “Anyway, tell me about the Prince.”

“He’s a prat,” Merlin responded instantly. “He keeps putting me in these ridiculous outfits. Yesterday he put me in this gauzy....dress.... thing," his hands irritably pantomimed the invisible frills, "and I’m not a girl and I don’t see why he should call me one just because I’m not an over muscled…mountain man or something, and then he apparently didn’t like it and made me take it off right away, and then he made me wear a ridiculous hat and all red. Seriously, I think he’s obsessed with the color; he keeps putting me in it. And sometimes he just seems to drag me around like a child with their favorite toy, and sometimes he treats me like a manservant and gives me an unreasonable amount of chores. I mean seriously, were all of his other menservants sorcerers? Because I don’t think it’s physically possible for one person to do them all. Also, he made me put on armor and kept hitting me with his sword and being all superior and Perfect Warrior or something, and I really just want to smash things in his face.”

Well, Arthur was a perfect warrior, and he’d only been trying to make sure his new slave could take care of himself in a pinch. Also, he was not a prat. He was a prince. He could understand Merlin being a bit confused, growing up in Cedren’s kingdom, but he should be happy to have kind master like Arthur and not some immoral degenerate who would bend Merlin over the table and bugger him until he couldn’t breathe but could only make helpless squeaking noises; a horrible, immoral degenerate who’d force him to his knees and thrust into that lush little mouth, choking him until tears ran down his pretty face; who would keep Merlin oiled and ready and chained to their bed to plunder at their leisure…and now Arthur had lost track of what he was thinking about and made himself…uncomfortable in the process. Right, Merlin’s blatant ungratefulness. He should be on his knees thanking…ah, that is he should be very happy that all Arthur did was give him a few chores and play with him a bit.

Hunith chuckled. “He’s not that bad. I remember when you were five you insisted that Will was horrible and mean and then he hit the baker’s boy for making fun of your ears and you ended up best friends. You’ll grow used to each other eventually.” Merlin just huffed.

Arthur had used his great skills at stealth to stealthily sneak away from the mother/son bonding moment and go hit things with his sword for a bit. And later that evening, as punishment for filling his mother’s head with fantastical stories, Arthur had made Merlin be his footstool all evening. And made him wear one of Arthur’s old red jackets and a red skirt. And did not wonder who Will was. Merlin was a blatantly horrible footstool. He kept moving and whining about Arthur’s feet (which were perfect and princely, dammit). And Arthur had even given him a cushion to kneel on so that he wouldn’t…hurt his knees. Kneeling on all fours with his mouth in a little pout and his arse up in the air, covered only in a red skirt that hugged its curves before dipping down in a teasing slant to spill across the floor….perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea after all, Arthur thought, shifting in his chair uncomfortably and wondering if anyone would be up for sword practice at this time of night. He just felt the…urge…to handle a sword…

The collar hadn’t come out until several months into Merlin’s time as Arthur’s personal slave. Before then, Arthur, like his father, had been playing the ‘pretend Cendren gave us servants because Camelot doesn’t hold with slavery, but keeping that horrible jumper your aunt knitted you also applies to people when you’re royalty’ game. Merlin was allowed to wear his own (horrible) clothes every other day, and Arthur didn’t make him do anything terrifically embarrassing where Hunith might see and be disappointed in him in public.

Then came the sorceress who tried to steal him. She claimed to be ‘liberating him from the murderous tyrant’s grasp’ but Arthur wasn’t an idiot. She hadn’t tried to ‘liberate’ Hunith who was actually Uther’s slave; no, she’d gone for Merlin. Gorgeous, oblivious, likely virginal Merlin. And Arthur could tell by the shreds of her formerly fine dress that danced around her admittedly very shapely legs that she was most likely a court lady who’d gone mad (possibly due to magic) and run away to the forest for many years where there were no needles for mending or men (but apparently face paint and hair products) and clearly wanted Merlin to be her little sex toy and if Merlin was going to be anyone’s sex toy he was going to be Arthur’s—ah. That is, Arthur couldn’t allow Merlin to fall into the terrible, lecherous hands of a crazy sorceress. Who may or may not spontaneously decide that what she really wanted was a virgin sacrifice and who almost definitely intended to put Merlin in dresses and force him to have fancy tea parties with her like Morgana used to do with her dolls and Gwen.

Regardless of her intentions, she had them, and Arthur could not have other people wandering around having intentions toward his slave, and Father didn’t like sorceresses anyway. So he was all prepared to strike her where she stood, powerful and crackling with lightning—ok, honestly she’d just been standing there in her tattered dress, and if his father hadn’t looked so frightened of her Arthur would have honestly thought she was just your average madwoman and had his guards take her to Gaius for a tonic. She didn’t look very frightening, in fact, she’d look rather gorgeous covered in Merlin silks and jewels.

And then she’d made a gesture and Merlin’s red outfit had transformed into a gorgeous flowing robe of blue and green. Merlin had looked down and said in an annoyed voice, “Ok, seriously, what is it with you people and my clothes? Also, still not a girl.”

“Come with me, Emrys, free of this—”

“Yes, yes. Murderous tyrant. I heard you. And it’s Merlin, not Emrys. I don’t even know how you could get the two mixed up, and anyway I don’t think my mother would approve of me running away with strange women in tattered dresses. No offense, but we were warned about girls like you.” Then he cocked his head to the side. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I have been doing my best to rectify the wrongs done by Uther. Hugging always the shadows, hiding my name and face lest—”

“That’s it! You’re Nimueh,” Merlin had nodded to himself thoughtfully. “Gaius told me you’d started some sort of plague that would have killed everyone if Arthur hadn’t set the monster on fire. Don’t you think it’s a bit rich to wander around accusing other people of being murderous?”

“I have done only what I must to rectify—”

“Yeah, yeah. You, like every other person with too much power and privilege, have seen fit to force your viewpoint on others and continue on a crusade with no thought to those you might harm along the way.” Merlin was building up quite a bit of righteous fury now. Arthur tried not to find it irresistibly sexy. He just looked so adorable and fierce, like a kitten attacking Arthur’s boots with all four paws and teeth.

Nimueh was looking pissed now. “Regardless, you will come with me.”

“I belong to Arthur.” There was something strangely echoing about that phrase, something that was a promise, a vow, and a challenge. Also, something particularly hot and Arthur was going to hell for this, he really was. “I am not going anywhere.”

Nimueh began intoning some very creepy sounding words, the world turned blue and sepia as she gestured and…Merlin stood there, calmly holding the wine jug he was in charge of. One of the feathers on the hat Arthur had put him in had ruffled a bit, almost apologetically. “Is it broken?” Merlin asked in a politely mocking tone that Arthur had thought the particular talent of Morgana, who was kind of looking like Merlin was her favorite person ever.

“YOU WILL NOT DEFY ME. IF YOU WILL ALLY YOURSELF WITH THIS—”

“Me? I’m just a slave. I clean up after Arthur and am repaid for my pains with ridiculous hats. You’re a sorceress who just walked into the court of a king who’s famous for killing your kind. Really it bewilders me why anyone with magic would just hang around Camelot performing spells that will get them killed. You do realize that if you just go east and then north a bit you’ll reach King Pelinor’s kingdom and he’s rather fond of magic users, right? Especially ones who can make rabbits appear out of hats, I’m told. I’m not sure if you’re up to that level, but you should at least be able to do a few scarf tricks,” Merlin had encouraged her.

It was about that time when Arthur realized that he and the entire contingent of Camelot knights were standing around, fully armed, not doing anything as Merlin traded barbs with a sorceress. Which was both against what they were supposed to do when confronted with powerful magic users (kill and kill fast) and kind of stupid. When she’d first walked in she’d blasted a couple of guards, but she seemed fully occupied with Merlin at the moment. And, much as Arthur believed in chivalry and chivalry believed in fair fights, chivalry also believed that sorcerers didn’t count. So he walked up behind the sorceress and cut her head off.

Everyone blinked at him like they hadn’t even thought of that and Arthur had somehow interfered with the plot or something, or perhaps they’d merely been mesmerized by the dead sorceress’s rather revealing attire or ensorcelled in actual fact. Or something. And then of course, the body under his feet turned to water, because according to Gaius it was only a simulacrum or something because life was never easy. The whole thing had been rather anti-climactic anyway. The bards would have to spice it up a bit when they retold it.  
Regardless, Arthur had sort of killed a sorceress and here in Camelot they liked to celebrate such things with a Feast. This wasn’t very unusual, since here in Camelot they were prone to celebrating the fact that the day of the week ended with ‘y’ with a feast.

End result, the events of the afternoon irrefutably proved to Arthur that people wanted to steal his slave and should be warned off by clear signs that he belonged to Arthur, and Arthur would stab them a lot if they tried.

He’d earlier tied a pretty red ribbon in a bow at Merlin’s throat and found that he quite liked it, though this was nothing compared to fastening the ruby encrusted collar around Merlin’s neck, with the little dangling Pendragon sigil. Seeing it hugging Merlin, proclaiming to anyone with eyes that this boy belonged to Arthur, it had made Arthur a particular mix of giddy/guilty/uncomfortably ‘happy’ and breathless that had only been previously matched by the time he’d decided to spy on Morgana to see if she was plotting against him and had ended up watching her and Gwen share a bath together. It was one of the most precious memories of his adolescence experience which he could never speak of because Morgana would kill him and Gwen would be embarrassed and possibly not even be able to look his shoes in the face.

“I’m not a dog,” Merlin had complained, which was at odds with the way his fingers were caressing the collar.

“No. You’re a slave. One who is apparently ripe to be kidnapped and ravished by crazy half dressed sorceresses.”

“I don’t think she was going to ravish me.”

“Of course she was, Merlin, why else would she be so keen on taking you? True, you belong to me and clearly she has something against Camelot, but if she just wanted someone to put in pretty dresses and have tea with she would have taken your mother. Whom she appeared to have no interest in, thus she clearly wanted to kidnap and ravish you. What else could a sorceress want you for?”

Merlin was silent for a moment, his face a study of ‘my god,’ fear, and a little bit of ‘Arthur, you idiot’ which Arthur thought was a bit much since he was only trying to warn Merlin about the threat to his virtue. “Perhaps I should have let myself be kidnapped,” Merlin said thoughtfully. “She was very pretty in a crazy way, and at least then I’d get to have a romp.”

Arthur was beginning to suspect that his slave was not actually eligible as a virgin sacrifice, and the thought made him want to break things because that meant that some cad had taken advantage of his sweet, innocent and slightly stupid manservant, and he was going to make scathing comments about being hard up, shameless hussies, and the kinky things crazy slave stealing sorceresses might be into when Merlin broke his brain by continuing: “....and I bet she’d be very inventive. Who knows what you could do with magic? You could tie someone up with invisible bonds and then ride them to exhaustion and leave them all sweaty and breathless and wanting under you—”

Arthur made a strangled sound and suddenly remembered an urgent training session with the guards in ‘how not to just stand around when someone’s threatening the court with magic’ and was not picturing it at all and so missed the half speculative/half frustrated expression on Merlin’s face and the way Merlin’s eyes lingered thoughtfully on Arthur’s wrists.

Arthur only dressed Merlin as a cat the once. Mostly because Merlin repaid him by deciding to act like a cat. And this did not mean catching the rat hiding in Arthur’s chambers and nibbling on his bedsheets. No, it meant that Merlin had crawled over to him, plopped himself in Arthur’s lap and demanded head scratches. Arthur thought that Merlin was a little confused as to how this whole Master/slave thing worked and caving to his demands would set a bad precedent.  
But then Merlin cheated and turned pleading eyes on him and Arthur found himself scratching his head and stroking his neck. Merlin’s short hair had curled fondly around his fingers like it wanted to cuddle too, because heaven forbid any part of Merlin ever have a sense of propriety. Merlin had given a little contented sigh and melted into Arthur’s lap in a way that the castle mousers certainly would never do. Sleep soft and warm, a little flush from being close to the fire, and honestly a bit heavy—he was making Arthur’s legs fall asleep. Arthur was tempted to dump him unceremoniously onto the floor stones, but then Merlin sleepily, ah..nuzzled him and Arthur …dumped him unceremoniously on the floor stones and ran away went to go train his knights in the fine art of hitting things with their swords. Merlin pouted at him for hours until Arthur let him sleep in his bed and allowed himself to be cuddled. And he certainly did not pull Merlin back onto him when he rolled away in the middle of the night. And if his arms curled possessively around Merlin that was just because Merlin was his, and Arthur was trained to keep a hold on things that he owned lest they be taken away from him. It had nothing to do with the comforting weight of Merlin pressing on him like his armor, or the way Merlin puffed little breaths of air onto his neck in not quite snores. It was pragmatic, that’s all.

Merlin had a most distressing habit of bending over a lot. Most…distressing…. Although Arthur could only blame himself for making Merlin crawl around on all fours, arse sticking in the air and head submissively lowered as he muttered insulting things about Arthur’s childhood. Still, that didn’t explain how Merlin was always dropping things and bending over to pick them up in front of Arthur, and Arthur was a chivalrous knight and prince and was absolutely not going to ogle his slave’s perky bottom when it was wiggling right in front of him. And pumping up, and down, up, and down. Arthur shoved his plate away and shot to his feet, having decided that what he really needed was a lap around the castle walls. Possibly followed by whacking people with sharp objects. Merlin looked very frustrated from his position on the floor.

 

Arthur was beginning to think Merlin might be a bit sweet on him. Also that Merlin was more than a bit daft, as he was apparently going to the huge fucking dragon imprisoned underneath the castle for relationship advice. First of all: dragon. Evil, magical, dragon that would chomp him down like a crunchy little treat. Second of all: who goes to a giant flying lizard for advice on how to win your (very human) sweetheart? But there Merlin was, under the castle having sneaked away from Arthur’s bed like the least sneaky person ever. Seriously, he might as well hold a curtain over himself while sidling along the corridors chanting ‘sneaky, sneaky’.

Anyway, he’d snuck away to where the dragon was imprisoned under the castle and Arthur had, very logically, followed him because he wanted to know where his slave was creeping off to in the middle of the night. And he was chatting with the dragon about Arthur and asking it if it thought Arthur liked him and if he should tell Arthur his secret (and honestly, it wasn’t that hard to say ‘Arthur, I rather fancy licking honey off your hot, naked body and then wrapping my legs around your waist while you fuck me senseless,’ he didn’t have to make such a big production out of it and steal off to have girl talk with a dragon. Shouldn’t he be having girl talk with Gwen or Morgana or someone who was a girl and not a dragon (who may or may not be a girl, Arthur was not up on his dragon gender identifiers)? Also, Arthur was going to make fun of him until the end of time for being such a girl).

It was both disturbing and heartening to hear that the dragon thought they’d make a sweet couple, at least that’s how Arthur was interpreting the bit about the ‘Great Destiny’ ‘Two sides of the same coin’ and ‘The half cannot hate that which makes it whole.’ Were all dragons this needlessly cryptic? Did it/he/she not realize that Merlin was more than a bit simple and what he should really be saying was ‘yes, of course you should kiss your prince, little treat'. Oh god, Arthur really hoped the dragon didn’t want, like, details. How did Merlin and the dragon even meet? Was he wandering down corridors and just accidentally slipped past the (rather incompetent, and he’d have to train that out of them) guard and found a dragon and gone: aha! Just what I wanted: a dragon to pour out all my romantic woes to! This was such a bad idea that Arthur couldn’t even compute it. It was as if a bad idea and a catastrophic idea had a little baby and named it ‘Merlin’s idea.’ Arthur contemplated confronting Merlin. He calculated the likelihood that the dragon would roast him for interrupting their chat, added Merlin’s betrayed look and decided to retreat and consider his options.

Option A was of course to pin Merlin to the nearest convenient surface and commence ravishment. Option A had a lot going for it. Mostly getting Arthur laid. However, Option A could lead to confusion and mixed signals and the entire possibility that Arthur was well, misinterpreting Merlin’s Talk with the dragon, which could be about Merlin’s habit of following Arthur around like a lost puppy or the latest fall fashions or whatever it was people who weren’t knights spoke about. So, that meant Arthur had to…well… he had to…talk about it with Merlin. Possibly even bring up…feelings.

He’d just have to go out and kill a lot of things afterward. It’d be fine. The larder could always use some bulking up.

Arthur waited until Merlin had come back and started tidying up, sat watching him while crunching nuts absently.

“Are you going to say anything or are you just going to sit there staring at me all night?”  
Arthur shifted and cleared his throat. “Tell me, Merlin, do you…ah…that is, do you think of me…as a Master or a Prince?”

“I think of you as a Prat, sire, as you are.” Pretty good indication that Merlin wouldn’t feel shy about telling Arthur to go boil his head if Arthur expressed a desire to strip him naked, tie him to the bed, and spend hours licking every inch of him and biting his ears.

“And…as a…man?” Arthur asked, studying the nut in his hand as if iit contained all the secrets of the universe and perhaps a dress that shone like the sun, which Arthur would promptly put Merlin in and make him twirl around.

Merlin just looked at him in confusion. “As opposed to a woman? Because I won’t judge you if you want to be the one in the dress if that’s—”

“No! No. I just. Some people might take …advantage of…people under their power. And I just wanted you to know you’re not obligated to welcome the attentions of anyone who’s…attentions you don’t….welcome.”

Merlin gaped at him and then got a knowing look on his face, thank god. “Is this about you being in love with Gwen? Because I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t—“

“NO. I’m not. How did you even? I mean, of course I’m fond of Guinevere, we grew up together and she’s always been a much better little sister than Morgana, but really I don’t think of her…like that. I mean….no.”  
+  
“Oh.” Merlin looked at him expectantly. “So. Who do you like?”

Arthur had clearly misinterpreted the conversation with the dragon and probably shouldn’t involve Merlin in these things anyway since clearly he was mentally deficient. “Actually, I just remembered I need to…train some of the guards.”

“Didn’t you train the guards this morning?”

“This is…remedial training.” For guards of dragons who couldn’t stop a mentally deficient slave  
.  
“Arthur?” Arthur paused on his way to the door at the uncharacteristically quiet and wistful tone. “I don’t think you need to worry. Anyone would be lucky to attract your attentions. I think she’s very lucky, your girl.”

“Because I’m the prince.”

“Because you’re Arthur. You’re a prat sure, but you’re gorgeous and funny and kind and gorgeous and I’m going to shut up now.”

“Please do.” And Arthur made sure he did by covering Merlin’s mouth with his own.  
Merlin didn’t freeze. He didn’t pull back and ask Arthur what the hell he thought he was doing. He just wrapped his arms around Arthur, lifted himself up so he could wrap his legs around Arthur’s waist and stuck his tongue in Arthur’s mouth. Arthur found himself very glad for all the extra practice he’d been getting in so that he could hold strong under the onslaught of Merlin’s attentions.

“Thank god,” Merlin panted when they parted for air, “I thought you were never going to fuck me.”

Arthur made a little strangled sound. “Ah, shouldn’t we, it’s just…”

“Yes, Arthur? There’s a reason you’re not bending me over that table right this minute?”

“I just thought….I might….court you a bit first.”

Merlin stared at him, legs still wrapped around Arthur’s waist, Arthur’s hands on his delicious little bottom, supporting his weight. “You don’t have to woo me, Arthur. I am well and truly won. Commence with the ravishing.”

Arthur wasn’t…against the idea of just bending Merlin over things. He was really, really enthusiastic about it. It just seemed….wrong somehow.

“God, you really do want to woo me, don’t you?” Merlin sighed, letting his legs fall to the floor and Arthur had not said Merlin could go anywhere that did not include Merlin’s delicious little body pressed up against his, and no he was not releasing his hold on Merlin’s arse. That arse was his. His, dammit.

“Maaaybe.”

“How long does this wooing last before we get to have sex?” Merlin asked rather plaintively.

“Long enough for me to be able to continue looking your mother in the eye afterward,” Arthur stated firmly.

“And you still intend to dress me up and collar me during the wooing process?”

“Of course.” Just because Arthur wanted to conquer court Merlin didn’t mean he wanted anyone to think Merlin was anything other than completely and utterly his. People might get ideas like that sorceress bitch had.

“Fine. Then you don’t get to know my secret until your cock is hilt deep in me,” Merlin declared firmly.

Part of Arthur wanted to scoff at Merlin having any secrets, unless it was his friendship with a dragon, in which case Arthur already knew it. Most of him, however, was desperately trying to convince himself that he shouldn’t actually shove Merlin over the table, pull up his tunic, pull apart his legs and bury himself in Merlin’s tight little arse because clearly Merlin was gagging for it. He had a reason for not doing that. It was a good reason. He was sure it was. It had something to do with…keeping Merlin his and happy and making sure Merlin never regretted anything or looked at anyone else ever.

Arthur ran off to beat some sense into some lazy, godawful dragon guards and came back sufficiently tired and sweaty and confident enough in his own self-control to grab Merlin, who’d been pouring buckets of hot water into Arthur’s tub and had his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, and pull him into a spine melting kiss. He wrapped both hands around Merlin’s waist, delighting in the dip and the swell of his (rather bony) hips and the curve of his arse as Arthur plundered Merlin’s mouth until Merlin was limp and clinging to him, red and breathless. Well. Mostly limp. Also hard, and straining eagerly against Arthur because Arthur was just that good. Smiling and pleased, he released Merlin and started stripping for his bath. Merlin looked at him hopefully and Arthur realized that he could absolutely not be naked with Merlin if he wanted to do this correctly, so he sent Merlin to go help his mother while he himself bathed.

The next morning Arthur rose before Merlin to go to the Royal Gardens and gather a bountiful selection of roses. Roses were the most romantic of flowers after all. He came back into his chambers quietly as he could (and unlike certain mentally deficient slaves he could think of, Arthur could actually be really sneaky) to strew the roses around where Merlin was curled up in his giant pillow nest. Then he sent a servant girl to get them both breakfast. With plenty of fruit he could feed to Merlin by hand.

When Merlin woke up he flailed unhappily at being torn from the sweet embrace of sleep, rolled over and cried out as he found thorns instead of soft pillows. Which is how Arthur ended up soothing a scratched and unhappy Merlin and cursing roses as the most unromantic flower ever. What kind of flower scratched one’s beloved? Merlin had actually been rather pleased (if mildly bemused by the sheer number, and perhaps Arthur should have just gone with the single red rose thing?) at receiving flowers and had insisted on putting them all in vases and taking some of the pink ones to his mother. Which Arthur should have thought of because clearly Hunith was the way into Merlin’s heart (and also deserved flowers for having raised Merlin all by herself before Arthur came in and took him off her hands. Possibly Arthur also owed Hunith a goat and some chickens for Merlin. He wasn’t really up on his peasant customs).

That afternoon Arthur decided to leave Merlin (well snogged) cleaning his chambers (Merlin on his knees was even more dangerous and distracting than before because now Arthur knew he could just walk up behind Merlin and take him and Merlin would like it) and took his knights hunting for quail. He strung up the nicest ones they caught and tossed them to Merlin when he got back in his best: I bring you this dead bird, and with it my heart, manner. “Dinner,” he muttered, trying not to notice that Merlin was wearing an old red shirt of Arthur’s which was too big for him across the shoulders and slid slightly off them to reveal Merlin’s collar bone, and had tucked a yellow rose \into his collar and frankly looked…ravishing.

There were several rules in place that Arthur expected his slave to always follow: don’t antagonize people who will kill you, when I say ‘don’t follow me’, don’t follow me, and thou shall not climb into the Prince’s lap without specific instructions to do so. Merlin is rubbish at following rules, and having apparently decided he was going to be a lap merlin or something, was prone to draping himself over Arthur whenever possible. Arthur grew quickly accustomed to eating around him, one arm securely wrapped around his waist so that Merlin wouldn’t fall or wiggle, because Merlin was a shameless hussy and delighted in tormenting Arthur. While Arthur was determined to woo Merlin properly, Merlin was determined to seduce Arthur. It was an unbelievably frustrating situation, and much as Arthur couldn’t blame Merlin for being overcome by Arthur’s (frankly amazing) manly physique (especially as he was such a willowy thing himself), he wanted Merlin to want more than just sex from him. He wanted Merlin to crave him, to be unable to breathe without thinking about Arthur. He wanted Merlin to feel about him how he felt about Merlin, as if he were drowning in an ocean and happy about it. And that meant wooing.

In retrospect, poetry wasn’t really Arthur’s thing and he should probably thank the sorceress for interrupting his attempts at it (poetry was for ponces who flounced around in as much silk and lace as Morgana anyway), except that the damned persistent woman was once again trying to steal Merlin. Hopefully it was the actual sorceress this time and not another simulacrum, so that Arthur could kill her properly. So of course Arthur had to rescue him. As he was a prince and that’s what he did. Also, Merlin was his and bitches just needed to learn to accept that. Arthur sent word to inform his father that he would be out hunting (sorceresses, but he left that bit out; Father could get tetchy about the whole ‘only heir thing’), gathered his most trusted knights and damn well went out to reclaim what was his (HIS).

They rode through some stock scenery, looking dashing and shiny as knights should, until they got to the shore by the Isle of the Blessed, where crazy sorceress chick was apparently a priestess or something. Arthur hadn’t been paying attention, but Morgana insisted this was where Merlin was, and Arthur had learned to trust women’s intuition in these things. Women’s intuition was very good at predicting battles and the location of lost slaves apparently. Arthur thought this was a bit unfair, but then again he got to actually go into battles and so it balanced out a bit.

There was a boat with no paddles sitting on the shore, which Arthur thought was rather convenient even if someone had absconded with the paddles, but he and his knights cut new ones and paddled to the island, which was very dramatic looking but didn’t seem very habitable. Merlin was tethered to the ruins with magically glittering chains and arguing with the sorceress. Because he was Merlin and he did shit like that. After this Arthur was getting Merlin a leash and never letting him out of the Princely chambers unless he was on said leash and thus within Arthur’s sight so that he couldn’t get himself in trouble any more.

“Release Merlin or suffer the consequences, witch,” Arthur declared heroically. Merlin gave him a completely and utterly unnecessary look. He was good at this, he really was, and ok, perhaps goading her to throw fireballs at him had been a bad idea, but Leon was sneaking in to free Merlin while the sorceress was distracted, so it was all good. And according to plan. The plan Arthur had just decided they were following. In which he and the other knights tried to gang up on the sorceress and Leon got Merlin to safety and then they…killed the sorceress. With knives.

Arthur was a bit distracted with the whole fighting thing, and thus couldn’t pay much attention to Merlin. And thus did not see Merlin’s eyes glowing an unearthly gold. Thus Arthur really had no idea why the skies seemed to turn against the sorceress, why the clouds gathered and lightning seemed to seek her out. He pretty much presumed it was divine intervention. On account of her being whoa evil. These things happened. And if Merlin was tired it was clearly due to his harrowing ordeal. He was sort of slumped against Leon looking pitiful as a wet kitten and still chained because Leon hadn’t been able to yet liberate him from his bondage.

Merlin straightened up when he saw Arthur. “You saved me from the evil sorceress.”

“Of course,” Arthur assured him. Surely Merlin knew that Arthur would always come for him?

“Stories indicate that this is suitable reason for two people to get married. Thus you have no more excuses for not bending me over the nearest surface and fucking me stupid,” Merlin continued blithely, looking completely unaffected by the fact that he was manacled and discussing their sex life in front of Arthur’s knights who were looking amused, embarrassed or turned on. Leon looked a combination of the first two, but then he was holding Merlin at the moment. Arthur decided to fix that, wrapping one arm around Merlin and bringing him close.

“Can’t we discuss this later?” When my knights aren’t here and you’re not distracting me by being all bound and helpless. Although those chains would really look better against your skin…

“Are you going to try to get out of it?” Merlin demanded. “Because I want penis, not flowers.”

God, Merlin was a shameless hussy. Heaven forbid Arthur try to do these things correctly.

“FINE. WHEN WE GET HOME.”

“Good.” And Merlin relaxed against him. “’M sleepy now anyway. How did you get here? Nimueh magicked a boat.”

“We made oars.”

“…hmmm, sensible. Was it Leon’s idea?”

“Do you want to get fucked or spanked?”

“Do I have to choose?”

Shameless. Hussy.

***

They rode home, Merlin snuggled against Arthur’s chest, as he couldn’t move his limbs until they found a blacksmith to remove the chains (a few towns in they found one who was very happy to help the Prince. Arthur decided to keep the chains. For…security. In case they decided to be magical again or something). Arthur still held Merlin stoically to him and thought very hard about siege tactics.

Morgana came out to greet them, wearing a black dress, her face solemn. Morgana never wore black dresses; Arthur hadn’t even been aware that she had one. Merlin’s mother wasn’t there, which was odd because surely she was worried about her son.

“Where’s my mum?” Merlin asked as if on cue, looking around for her in confusion.

“She’s in Gaius’s chambers. There was an attack and she was knocked out, but he says that she’ll be fine.” Merlin’s shoulders relaxed a bit, but Arthur knew Morgana well enough to know that it had to be more than just Merlin’s mum getting hit.

“It was an assassin. Arthur, your father—” No. He couldn’t. He refused to accept it.

“He’s injured.”

“He’s dead, Arthur. The assassin drove a knife through his heart; it was instantaneous.”

His father was dead. He was king. He was king and an orphan and he was going to ruin his father’s kingdom because he wasn’t good enough and—Merlin’s hand laced through his. “It’s time, Sire,” he said quietly.


	2. The One Where Arthur Loves Merlin’s (quail-summoning) Face. Because it is an Awesome Face.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All sextras were written after the fic upon request of commentors:  
> angely78 THIS IS AWESOME.  
> ramtops_witch: Your FACE is Awesome  
> angely78 No, YOUR face is awesome :-D  
> ramtops_witch FINE:

Arthur is very fond of many parts of Merlin, but especially his face.

Arthur liked the way Merlin looked when he was happy. Like he was all lit up from inside because his birthday had come early and he got to slide down a rainbow and have all the cake he wanted. Arthur didn’t even know how he did it, one moment Merlin would be just sort of…angular…with ears, and the next his eyes would just…and his smile. His entire face would expand with glee, shameless, utter delight, and Arthur’s heart would just… When Merlin smiled you just sort of smiled with him, because he just looked so damn happy.

Arthur was prone to do things to provoke this look. Most of the time it didn’t take all the much, Merlin was generally pretty easy going, and basically all Arthur needed to do was edge in a compliment between his daily harassment and Merlin’s face would do that thing where the smile just kept growing bigger. Arthur, however, sort of had a hard time complimenting…anything. Ever. Words were hard, and he’d mean to say “Good job.” and it would come out “Oh, I see you weren’t entirely rubbish today. Well, flukes do happen.” and he wouldn’t even mean to. So, instead, he’d buy Merlin presents.

Of course the presents didn’t always go over very well, because sometimes Arthur would get Merlin practical things and Merlin would sort of half-smile and look at him like he was milk gone just a bit off, or he’d get Merlin something ridiculous and Merlin’s chin would jut out and he’d get flustered. Like when Arthur sort of maybe covered him in jewels. A lot of jewels. Maybe an indecent amount of jewels. But what was the point of having a bedslave if you couldn’t have them dripping with sapphires? What was the point of that? And Merlin had, of course, redistributed his wealth across the city because he was daft, but for a few hours he’d been kneeling on Arthur’s bed, body glittering with long, thin chains decked with water droplet-sized of flawless precious blue stones.

Sometimes he’d get it right, though. Sometimes he’d get Merlin warm, wool socks because he saw Merlin shivering when he put his feet down on the floor that morning, and there the happy face would be. Right there. Being happy.

Being stupidly nice and noble to people who didn't deserve it was a pretty good route to the happy face as well. He could buy Merlin's mum presents (Merlin’s mum deserved presents. She deserved all the presents in the world. She raised Merlin) and it didn’t even matter what the present was, because Merlin had no taste when it came to giving things to his mum, and just wanted her to have nice things. Whenever Arthur gave Merlin some spending money (Well, honestly, it was there in case he got into town and discovered he was hungry.) he just went into town and bought his mum ugly, well meaning, expensive things. And she’d take in the new dress and awkwardly pat his arm.

Merlin’s mum deserved Arthur’s good taste, honestly.

Arthur also liked the way Merlin's face looked when he was horny. He liked it to the point where he wound Merlin up just to see how he looked when he was thinking about sex, not really considering that it would end in sex. It was the way his eyes would follow Arthur's every movement. It was something about the way he’d flush, bright and pink across his ridiculously high cheek bones. And then there was the greedy way he’d pull his lower lip between his teeth, the way he’d wet it with his tongue—it changed on if he was trying to be good, or a shameless hussy (he was always a shameless hussy. But sometimes he pretended not to be. Sometimes he was even shy and Arthur had to press him down and kiss him and kiss him until he was breathless and glassy eyed)—like the only thing he wanted in the world was to pull Arthur in away somewhere and kiss him until they both collapsed.

Arthur, of course, liked the way Merlin's face looked when he was getting fucked. The way his mouth would press together like this was the most serious thing in the world and needed all his concentration. The way his eyes would go dark and desperate. The way he'd be quiet for all of a second before he was making truly disgraceful noises and breathless chanting of Arthur's name. He like the rest of Merlin’s body then, too, the way it just opened up for him, the way he could touch anywhere and Merlin would writhe, eyes on Arthur and hands exactly where Arthur put them, his legs wrapped tight, or sprawled wide, or stretched open or…

Arthur liked the way Merlin's face looked when he was coming, all bliss and golden eyes.

Arthur liked the way Merlin's face looked when he was sleepy and sated. He liked the way Merlin's eyes couldn't quite focus on him, but he'd just smile and spread his legs if Arthur wanted to keep going. And if he they were both done than Merlin would snuggle up to Arthur, and press his face into Arthur's neck. Or maybe down to Arthur’s chest and as him to keep talking, because it helped him sleep. He liked how loose Merlin would be all over him, sprawling and Arthur would shove him off, sometimes, because Merlin ran hot, but Merlin would just flop elsewhere and blink at him before melting back into the mattress with an edible little sigh that Arthur could just lick out of Merlin’s mouth if he wanted.

Arthur liked the way Merlin's face looked when it was sucking his cock. The way his mouth seemed to be stretched too wide and full and his eyes just stared up at Arthur with perfect love and trust and Arthur knew that Merlin was his and he could do whatever he wanted with him. Not the King's, not the Kingdom's. No, he was all just Arthur's. He liked when Merlin was looking at him. And he always was, during sex, never down at himself, never away, just looking at Arthur.

Arthur liked the way Merlin's face look when he was wrathful. Not angry, Merlin didn't do anything as simple as angry. No, when Merlin lost his temper it was an unholy storm of terror unleashed upon Arthur's enemies. Arthur liked that Merlin stood at his side in those moments, that Merlin's wrath was on his behalf. He never had that looked turned on him, Merlin would get grumpy, sure, but never angry at him. Arthur made sure of that, that all of Merlin’s thick-voiced yelling was at someone else, that the high points of color on his cheeks were focused in other directions. Arthur liked that Merlin could lash and snap and do something, because Merlin was his, but he was his because he wanted to be there. If he didn’t want to be there, there would be nothing Arthur could do to stop him from leaving. Merlin could level the castle if he wanted.

He also liked that Merlin was powerful and could hold Arthur down and do with him as he would. But in an hour, once they finished this, Merlin would be bent over the round table with Arthur's cock up his arse and begging for more.

But he’d like it even if it didn’t lead to sex. The thing was that most things with Merlin led to sex. He was intensely physical in his affections, and any mood state could lead to him grabbing Arthur and pulling them against a wall.

Arthur liked Merlin’s face, was the thing. He liked it regardless of what it was doing. He even liked Merlin's sad, broken face— felt like the worst kind of sick, sick bastard—but it was just…sort of lovely. Even as his gut sort of dropped out of him, he couldn’t stop from thinking Merlin was pretty when he pined or moped. And when he cried, he was just…it wasn’t something he tried to make happen, because the guilt in his chest was much more than the way his breath caught in his throat, but when Merlin was sad… It was just that Merlin felt everything. He smiled and he yelled and he frowned and he cried and he really felt it, down and deep and honest.

So yes, he liked it when Merlin was sad, but he just wanted to take Merlin into his arms and kiss all his troubles away. To tickle along his ribs, or put Merlin in a headlock and rub his knuckles across Merlin’s scalp until he was happy again. Perhaps it was better to say that Arthur loved making Merlin's sad face go away. And it would. Every time, it would.


	3. Magic Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ramtops_witch:I TRIED. I TRIED SO HARD. ME AND MERLIN. BOTH TRIED TO GET HIM LAID. ARTHUR INSISTS ON BEING A *GENTLEMEN* OR SOMETHING. And then plot happened. The way it was *supposed* to be was a lot more Merlin getting bent over things and marked and fucked until he can't move but can maybe possibly stumble to the table with Arthur's come dripping down his thighs because Arthur never stops using him.  
> annemjw: Yesssssss.  
> ramtops_witch: I'm real easy

When Merlin said that Arthur didn’t get to know his secret until Arthur’s cock was hilt deep in Merlin’s delicious little bottom, he less meant that Arthur would have earned it by then, but more that when such an event happened, the secret would be revealed whether Merlin wanted it to be or not.

Of course. Merlin couldn’t do anything so prosaic as tell Arthur his secret, oh no. It was much more Merlin’s style to have the room explode in a riot of color as he came. Not explode in the “there was an incident with the dragon again” sense. That is not sexy, and Merlin wasn’t exactly militarized. When Arthur said, “explode,” he meant that Merlin made every surface burst into bloom. With flowers. Really girly flowers. Like the sort Morgana always had bustling about in her room.

Arthur’s response should probably have been to stop fucking Merlin, and have him arrested as a sorcerer. Or even just to stop fucking Merlin, since it had been declared Springtime in Arthur’s Room and Arthur hadn’t be warned of the possibility of a change in season. But, considering how deliciously tight Merlin’s arse was, and how long Arthur had waited to tap that, he could have even finished fucking Merlin and had him arrested as a sorcerer. Or not even arrested, just, maybe, sort of addressed the problem. Made a note of it even.

Rather what he did was think ‘damn I’m good’ to himself and adjusted Merlin’s legs so that he had better access. Merlin’s hips went loose and his legs spread that much wider, until he wasn’t even supporting himself, and his thighs were shaking. Arthur was almost equally entranced by the way the muscles felt under his hand— tensing and relaxing and moving under the long, pale stretch of Merlin’s skin— as he had by the way his cock slid in and out of Merlin’s body, the way his arse clung, to him. He’d pushed down between Merlin’s shoulder blades, so Merlin arms spread out in acute angles over the bedspread and his face turned to the side, pressed down and flushed.

Merlin had gone a little limp and made helpless ‘hah’ noises as his face was smushed into Arthur’s pillow by the relentless movement of Arthur’s hips, his body spread, hands uselessly kneading at the sheets, toes clutching at air and Arthur had never seen anyone enjoy getting fucked that much. Like… Arthur didn’t know, but Merlin looked like he was barely even holding it together anymore, couldn’t string anything together in his head long enough to form words. He’d just accepted it, with every fiber of his body, and Arthur had taken and taken and taken and been taken.

Afterwards they had the ‘soooo, you’re magic’ talk, in which Merlin got all soppy and started going on about how he and Arthur had a destiny and how he’d been informed of said destiny by King Cendred of the Leather Whips and Inventive Decorating choices, and thus agreed to be Arthur’s slave so that he’d belong completely and totally to Arthur. Arthur, personally, thought there was maybe something a bit sketchy about the whole thing, but Merlin just looked so earnest about it that maybe Arthur started believing it a little bit. Even if Cendred was still very crazy and Arthur still wanted to kill him for any advances he may have made on Arthur’s possible destiny partner.

“You’re going to be the greatest King history has ever known,” Merlin said, tight against Arthur’s side, staring down the line of Arthur’s body, fingers wringing each other emptily. “You won’t…you won’t get blinded by hatred, or revenge. You’ll see people for people, and…” Merlin sighed, “You’ll have me there.”

“Lot of good that will do me.”

“Well you’re a bit of a dunderhead.”

“That’s not even a word Merlin.”

“It’s idiomatic.” Merlin sniffed, and then looked up and stared him right in the eye. “I’m serious, though. I will be there. I’m always…I mean…I’m happy to stay by your side. Until the day I die.”

And how did one respond to that except to promptly flip Merlin over, tell him to brace himself against the head board, and resume fucking him? Arthur couldn’t think of a better way, and if he couldn’t, then everyone else could shut up. Merlin wiggled a bit at first, and Arthur liked that, liked the way Merlin wasn’t exactly trying to get away, just settling in. He liked the idea of Merlin settling in, bracing his knees. Merlin’s breath hitched when Arthur carefully crowded behind him and experimentally dipped two fingers inside, because he was still sore. He was loose and wet around Arthur’s fingers, and so, so, so very warm. Arthur inhales against Merlin’s neck and thrust inside—Merlin didn’t need the prep, but there was something to be said for the anticipation.

“Do you want it?” Arthur asked, not because he was in doubt, but because he wanted to hear how Merlin would say it. Merlin’s pushed back against Arthur’s chest, turned his head to kiss Arthur’s temple and Arthur could grow addicted to this, to sharing wet, sliding body heat, to having Merlin push into Arthur’s space, to Merlin falling into his space, to feeling Merlin’s body clenching wet and needy around Arthur’s fingers.

“Yes,” came out soft and tender and Arthur closed his eyes, soaking into it.

“Even though you’re still all red and hot? Even thought it’ll hurt?”

“Yes,” Merlin hissed, baring down and Arthur turned his head to look down Merlin’s spine.

“You’re going to be a mess. I’m going to leave you such a mess and then I’m going to make you clean up my room, and I’m going to watch as I drip out of you, down your thighs. And then I’m going to fuck you again. You are going to let me.”

The yes there was less a word, and more a series of vowels and fricatives as Arthur slid his cock inside Merlin.

Merlin later became the Court Sorcerer and never wore pants or walked anywhere. Or, well, that might have been a slight exaggeration, because Arthur did like seeing Merlin’s wide legged limp, and he liked watch Merlin move and he liked how Merlin would come when he was called. But he didn’t walk often and Arthur kept him out of pants like they might be poisonous.

Merlin could usually be found sitting in the king’s lap and glaring at anyone who looked like they might possibly think about one day looking wrong at the king, and beaming at everyone else. Merlin never could be broken of his habit of generally liking everyone as long as they weren’t involved in an assassination plot against Arthur.

Arthur would spend most courts stroking Merlin’s bare legs thoughtfully, and he didn’t much mind that it sort of twisted his reputation somewhere crookshanks, because there was more to being a King then the image of Kingliness. He’d rather focus on the details of his job then simply sitting around looking imposing, and, generally, he thought it best to keep one’s most powerful weapon nearby.

People got used to it.

They also got used to the fact that the Court Sorcerer frequently looked like he’d been attacked by a nest of vampires. He was after all, a powerful sorcerer and clearly the king needed to keep him under strict control. Thus the leash that never left his hand as long as said sorcerer was outside of the king’s chambers and the tight curl of the King’s arm around the Sorceror’s body. It was simply one of those things that was.


	4. Ten for Magic (Merlin is Arthur's naughty boy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ramtops_witch: d). Merlin receiving spankings for all the illegal magic he did  
> skellerbvvt: D. I WANT D. YOU KNOW I WANT D.

Arthur was fucking Merlin lazily over his table when the idea came to him. If there had been two of him, Arthur number Two would have given him a hearty slap on the back for his genius.

Arthur had, absently, been pondering what to do about Merlin’s audacious insubordination in using illegal magic without Arthur’s consent. Clearly he couldn’t just let that go, but on the other hand, Merlin had done him a fair good turn with a healthy portion of his spells, so he couldn’t make it too harsh. He wanted a lesson that would sink into Merlin’s head, but not one that might actually upset him overly much. A grumpy Merlin was hilarious, but he didn’t want a legitimately distressed or upset Merlin.

The day was balmy sleep-under-one-thin blanket warm, the sort of warm that was made to be basked in as opposed to resented. Merlin just had the slightest sheen of sweat, and Arthur was comfortably naked. It was a slow day—he had stretches of those, where nothing went wrong, and the people he had entrusted to carefully peruse all the documentation and reports about the castle hadn’t run in with anything important and his random reading of their finished work hadn’t shown any laxness or corruption yet. Not that he thought there was going to be, but it was good to keep people on their toes.

He didn’t have any meetings until after lunch, and he’d gotten up early by chance, so he was enjoying the chance to just sink into Merlin and keep him open and desperate beneath him as long as he wanted. Far too often they had fast and vicious sex in a corner, or sleepy, half-exhausted sex right before bed, or Merlin would sneak below the blankets and suck Arthur awake because he was a shameless, shameless, hussy.

He hardly ever had to open Merlin up anymore, unless he wanted to, since Merlin could just melt open and relax around him, easy as breathing. He bent Merlin over every available surface like they were both still teenagers, because it never seemed like a bad idea. Merlin clearly needed more exercise, and sex was the only thing he wouldn’t complain about. Really, Arthur was just looking out for Merlin’s physical health. He was doing him a service. So they had somewhat constant sex, not to mention good-night-snuggling,-holding-close-kissing-sloppily-sex, not-really-a-surprise-morning-sex, slopping-water-everywhere-hot-water-warmed-Merin-slippery-laughing-bath sex and Court-is-Boring-Today sex, and of course wall-sex. The wall needed some Merlin love too. As long as it didn't get greedy about it. Arthur sent the wall a suspicious glance, in case it looked like it was getting ideas. It mostly looked like it was a wall.

But the chance to just take Merlin slowly, with Merlin already relaxed and sated—but still begging for it like the needy slut he was—was rare enough that Arthur treasured it. It was one of Merlin’s favorite, seeing as how he was one of the reasons Arthur happened to wake up early “by chance.”

It was the way Merlin moved under him, not a lot since he was already tired, but the helpless up lift of his hips whenever Arthur pulled out of him a bit, like he didn’t want Arthur to leave but just stay buried inside him forever, except that when Arthur slowed down Merlin would wiggle under him and demand he move already. Arthur liked the soft slapping noises as his hips met Merlin’s arse, liked being able to crowd over Merlin and watch his ribs move and he breathed, watched the slow, twitching changes of his features. But then, that got Arthur wondering: just what sound would it make if Arthur’s hand met Merlin’s arse? Soft and playful, would Merlin squawk and glower at him? Or would his hand come down hard, make the room ring with the sound, would Merlin gasp and roll into it—move into it like he didn’t know he wanted it until it was there.

He could try it out. He rubbed his hand up from Merlin’s hip and over the smooth, warm soft flesh above it. He did love when Merlin flushed red, and it would be such a lovely color. What face would he make? Arthur loved all of Merlin’s expressions—would never say as much, but he did—but which one would be the best? Not happy, not quite happy, not sad, either. Indignant, maybe. Apologetic, perhaps—penitent. Aroused, yes, of course.

He could teach Merlin a lesson in how to not lie to your master. He thumb rode the crease where he cock was slowing in consideration. Merlin squared his feet and pushed back up against him with a grunt.

“Arthur, stop teasing.”

“I’ll tease you if I like,” Arthur reprimanded.

He’d be all red and wet, sore and hot. So very hot: unable to sit down, only able to drape himself helplessly over Arthur lap and demanding Arthur stroke through his hair. How long should he go? Just for a bit, no…no…that wouldn’t get the lesson in properly. He would have to keep going, keep spanking Merlin was crying with it, but still rutting against Arthur’s thigh. He wanted Merlin to not know what he wanted—for Arthur to stop or for Arthur to sink his nails in and suck him down. And then, and then Arthur could have a chance make him stop crying without feeling like such a horrible cad. He could rub something soothing into the skin and have a chance to spoil Merlin without needing to admit he wanted to spoil Merlin (He didn’t! He just…he liked Merlin’s indignant face, was all.) and Merlin wouldn’t be able to walk off in a huff.

Sometimes Arthur had the best ideas ever.

“How many times did you do magic before I was king and repealed the law Merlin?” Arthur said, stopping, because Merlin could not form sentences while being fucked. It was just one of those things.

“ah..huah..wah?” Merlin swallowed and Arthur had to hold his hips down so he would be distracting again.

“How many times Merlin?” Arthur insisted.

“I..don’t.”

“Tell me. Each time. You did illegal magic.” He bared his body down, “or I pull out right now, come over you back, and leave you like this.”

Oh wait, that was a good idea too.

“Ah. Well. There was…when we first…got here…and…god Arthur right there,” Yes, he knew that, he was good at this. “There was this guard that was looking at Mum so I tripped him.”

Smack.

Arthur’s hand made both a truly satisfying sound and a beautiful mark on Merlin’s arse. The impact stung against his palm, but it clearly stung against Merlin more. Merlin felt everything. He felt when Arthur’s stubble rasped against his neck in the mornings, and he felt when Arthur’s hands smoothed up the inside of his thighs. He felt Arthur’s fingers curling up in his hair, and went Arthur’s tongue dipped into his navel—and he felt it so viciously, so loudly and shamelessly. He’s curl up against Arthur and just…there was this stretch he did, where Arthur could almost feel the satisfaction rolling off Merlin and he’d have to settle his hands on Merlin’s skin because the satisfaction would then sink into his body and they could both lie there in a dribbling mire of contentment.

“Wha—” Merlin jerked, a jerk that started at his hips and wiggled up his body until his head came up and he was balanced on the balls of his feet, pushing close and hot and tense as a battlefield.

“I’ve decided that for being a bad boy and lying to me and doing magic, you shall receive ten swats for every time you did so.” Arthur explains, holding Merlin still with one hand at the small of his back so that Arthur could deliver the next one with no interference. “It’s only fair that you get punished for lying to me, don’t you think?”

“Bu—ow!” Merlin jerked under the slap, which rang with a sweet, sharp noise that was almost crisp in how debilitatingly attractive it was. Merlin’s legs shifted that last impossible inch wider, all his weight on his forearms and pressed against Arthur, his arse tilted up invitingly, the red already soothing away under Arthur’s caressing thumb.

“I see, that many times was it?” Arthur mused, mouth watering at the hesitant breath slowly eking out of Merlin as Merlin probably thought about exactly how long Arthur would have him over his knee.

Merlin’s protracted silence was damning enough.

“We’ll just have to take it a little bit at a time.” Arthur leaned down and nipped up Merlin’s neck, sniffing the space under his ear. “However much you can handle. Then a break, and then we’ll start up again, until you’ve worked it all off.” Arthur explained, even as he delivered another sharp smack.

Merlin’s arse was growing a nice, rosy pink by the time that Arthur decided he was tired of keeping Merlin bent over the table, and Merlin was utterly incapable to support any of his own weight and was sort of melting off onto the floor.

He pulled Merlin up and got them over to the bed, slid out of Merlin’s hot body and missed it immediately. He took a few breaths to calm his arousal and pulled Merlin into his lap. Merlin came willingly, spreading out even as Arthur shoved his face down a bit. Arthur wanted to have unimpeded access to Merlin’s arse, determined to make it a beautiful red color to go with his cloak, Thus far Merlin had an entire list of infractions, and Arthur made him count out each and every stroke of Arthur’s hand as he was punished for each one. Arthur’s favorite personal touch, was, of course, when he kneaded lightly at the red skin as Merlin squeezed his hands other and dutifully said “I should not use magic without your permission.”

Also they were still only on the second day where Merlin kept a serving maid from losing her tray.

“Seven,” Merlin gasped as Arthur lay another strike down, Merlin body riding the hit and needing to take a sharp, desperate gasp of air. Arthur moved to the other cheek, to be fair, and wondered if he should move to the sensitive flesh of Merlin’s inner thigh, if he should make every step Merlin took a reminder of his punishment. Merlin wasn’t going to be able to sit after this, hell, Merlin wasn’t going to be able to wear trousers. He’d have to lie on his front naked, sleeping in his normal flipperty-gibbert manner, of limbs everywhere, pillow crushed tightly to his chest and bum somewhat up in the air. Arthur wasn’t going to be able to focus with that in his room.

He finished and Merlin’s eyes had gone past watering into tearing territory, but his hips were rubbing steadily forward against Arthur’s legs and he thought it’d be a good moment for a pause. Get some water into Merlin, at least. He pulled Merlin up and inched over to his bedside table for a mug of water and Merlin drank thirstily, gulping down another glass before taking a few shaky breaths, cock riding along the line of Arthur’s belly and hitching up for more.

Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and sobbed a little into Arthur’s hair as he listed the next infraction.

Arthur’s hand was getting a little tired, and Merlin’s arse a bit too red by the time Merlin was no longer able to list infractions. Carefully Arthur pulled Merlin forward so that Merlin was straddling his lap, Merlin’s arse hanging a bit over the side and Merlin just sits there, tears streaming down his face and his breath coming in huge, hiccupping gulps. Arthur presses kisses to his face, licking up the tears and kissing his eyelids until Merlin stopped crying and lifted his face up for kisses on his mouth.

“Now, don’t you feel better, now that you’ve paid for being a bad boy?” Arthur can’t help but grinning a little.

“No. I feel like you just smacked my arse a lot because you’re a sick bastard.”

Arthur smacked it again for the impertinence and the way Merlin squeaked and jumped a bit, then he gentled and stroked down Merlin back, “Don’t pretend you don’t always feel guilty all the time.”

Merlin huffed, “I do not.”

“You felt guilty about lying to me, didn’t you?”

Merlin said nothing, and that was saying enough. Merlin always felt everything.

He lifted Merlin up, and slid him down onto Arthur’s very patient cock. Merlin gave a shocked, breathy groan. “You. You just spanked my arse and now...”

“And now I’m going to fuck it. Of course. You do have a point though, I might as well enjoy the fruits of my hard labor, and I can’t see it like this.”

Which was how Merlin ended up stretched out over the bed with Arthur’s cock up his arse. Merlin groaned and when Arthur came he pulled out and spread his come over the red, abused flesh. It was probably good for it, or something. Merlin just clung to his sleep pillow and winced every time he had to move his lower body.

Merlin didn’t leave Arthur’s chambers for a month, spending most of it either bent over Arthur’s lap getting smacked until he was a writhing, sobbing mess, or curled up in Arthur’s bed as Arthur alternated before soothing creams and kisses, and fucking Merlin until he couldn’t complain.


	5. An unreasonable amount of sex. And also rimming.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ramtops_witch:I am working on making them hotter, but I also take suggestions for more ;)  
> debris_k: Rimming! ...Er, um, yeah, first thing that comes to mind would be kinky enough to make me blush. XD  
> As long as it's first time-y I honestly don't care what the boys, as long as you let them do it. ;-D

Merlin had honestly thought they were done.

Arthur's sex drive had been all that he could have hoped for and more. And Merlin himself had plenty of pent up frustration. He’d been waiting for ages, curled up in his bed and rubbing off to ridiculous things. Things like Arthur’s fingers around a tankard, or Arthur’s mouth when he was pouting, or his body when he was fighting, or the lush curve of his arse under his viciously red tunics. And now, now…he was done. He was done now. Now was the time for sleep.

Arthur had fucked him long and slow in his bed, Merlin's legs hanging over Arthur's shoulders, held firmly in place by Arthur's hands on his thighs--leaving faint finger shaped bruises that Merlin would run wondering hands over later. Arthur hadn’t stopped staring at him, his eyes would flick and move over his body, finding new things to be entranced by, and Merlin had moved under him, head arcing back in degrees of arousal, panting through his mouth and shuddering on the bittersweet edge of too much.

They had gone long past what Merlin had ever thought possible, Arthur pulling out and roving like Merlin was new territory to be explored. It had kept him low and simmering for ages until Arthur had bent Merlin’s leg wide, pushed the other to his chest, and curled into to suck the very head of Merlin’s cock into his mouth while his cock was still pushing in and out in short, jagged movements, and Merlin had arched up and lost his head entirely.

They'd had their first post-coital talk—which had been only vaguely awkward and comprised mainly of: So, you're magic—cheerfully followed by Arthur pressing Merlin against the headboard, telling him to hold on tight, and fucking him again, fast and hard.

Merlin had stumbled to the table to get the tray of food sitting there, and he felt well fucked. He didn’t have a mirror, but his thighs ached, and there were bruises and red suck marks all over every portion of his body that he could see. His neck hurt and his ears felt wet and over-sensitized; he had to move carefully as Arthur’s seed dripped out of him and he didn’t know when he’d stop feeling so open and wet and used, but he hoped it wasn’t soon.

Arthur had come up behind him and bent him over the table, muttering filthy things in Merlin's ear about all the times he'd thought about this, and all the things he wanted to do to Merlin in which this table would have a supporting role. And Merlin hadn’t been able to figure out how to not want that, want more of it, even though he was already sore and wet and sticky. Arthur nuzzled up his neck and nibbled Merlin's ears, because apparently they were just right there and Arthur had a thing for biting Merlin that went well with Merlin's thing for Arthur biting him.

But now they were done. At least for a few hours. Maybe time enough for sleep. He knew he was done, everything hurt and he wanted to sleep forever. Now way Arthur could be up for more. No human way. He was certain of it. Now was the time for lounging in Arthur's ridiculously sumptuous bed, to melt into the bedcovers and let the mattress cradle his exhausted body until he could work up the energy for maybe another, lazy round. Merlin was sore and sated and quite pleased with himself because he was totally right and they should have done this ages ago.

So when Arthur had rolled Merlin onto his stomach Merlin's first assumption was that Arthur had actually been replaced by some sort of sex demon. One of those incubi things. "You can't possibly be hard again. You’re not human, are you?”

Arthur had chuckled into the back of Merlin's neck. "You really shouldn't insult your lover, especially when he also happens to be the very forgiving king who isn't going to chop your head off for illegal use of magic."

"I should when he's an insatiable prat. Seriously, how did you hold out this long if you're always this horny? I’m tired."

This earned Merlin a playful slap on his arse. "I'm just trying to keep my shameless hussy of a slave satisfied. Besides, you're being too closed minded about this.”

"Wha--a!" Merlin squeaked as Arthur's hands parted the cheeks of his arse and he felt something wet and wiggling. He clutched down on the pillows, and he wasn’t going to get hard again, that was not possible, but that didn’t stop it from feeling good.

"You have no idea what you look like do you?" Arthur asked huskily between swipes of his tongue. "All wrecked and flushed, covered in bite marks—"

"Only because you're a vampire." Merlin interrupted, and was rewarded for his cheek by a bite on his...ah...cheek.

"As I was saying. You've been clearly and thoroughly well fucked, your sweet little hole all open and pitiful, my come dripping from it, all the way down your thighs. Messy and mine." A growl underlayed Arthur's voice. "But I can't have you all messy and sticky. You’ll complain. So I'm going to clean you up. Feel free to thank me as much as you want.”

"What, with your tongue?" Nobles were so weird. But Merlin couldn’t deny that it felt good and if Arthur wanted it, well… who was he to argue?

"You'll like it. Now hold still." Arthur settled in with a hum and Merlin pressed his head to the sweat-rumpled pillows and let out a slow breath. Arthur’s mouth… He’s knees sank wide and if he could have figured out his hips he would have hitched them back against the warm suction, the wet thrust of his tongue, but he couldn’t, so he just had to kneel low and take it.

His balls ached, and his dick tried for a twitch, but then hung limp, but his entire body felt overly warm and Arthur just kept moving, stroking Merlin’s back and Merlin’s body shuddered, he was too warm, too close and too far and pulled in far too many directions and after a long moment he had to force the word out, had to ask for it to stop and Arthur… pulled back and kissed his cheek.

“Too much?”

Merlin nodded.

Arthur slid in next to him with a smirk. “Well, we can’t all have my stamina.”

Merlin patted his arm, “It’s simply because you never get any and you got greedy.”

“I did not!” Arthur protested

“It’s like when its apple season, and you eat until you throw up.”

“I’ll eat you.”

“You already did.” Merlin stretched out, his spine decompressing with a few wonderful pops. “You can do it again tomorrow.”

Arthur grumbled, but grabbed Merlin around the waist and tucked him into the curve of his body like Merlin might vanish.


End file.
